


Crowning Glory

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, HP: EWE, Hair Kink, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: Harry wishes Draco would cut his hair.





	Crowning Glory

 

***

Draco Malfoy has grown up beautifully.  
  
When Harry sees him across the Ministry atrium, it's been a few years. Malfoy has been in France, completing a potions apprenticeship, and has returned to begin his mastery program. All traces of his teenage lankiness have evolved into graceful, sleek lines. Where once he looked thin, drawn and nervous, he now appears confident, his stylish robes barely concealing a lean, toned figure.

That's not the first thing Harry notices about him, however. The very first thought that runs through Harry's head, as he exits the Floo on his way to work, is that someone has let Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban.  
  
His confusion is simple: Draco Malfoy hasn't cut his hair since leaving the country, and it reaches past his shoulders, down his back, the ends held together in a ribbon to keep it from swinging around. It's not a feminine ponytail, but a very old-style, classical wizarding look. Harry's seen older members of the Ministry sporting the same. None of them have the telltale white-blonde hair of the Malfoys, though. Before he can even think about it, Harry's hand has gone to his wand. And then Malfoy turns to the side, his high cheekbones raising in a smile as he greets - wait, Harry's boss? - and Harry realizes it's not the elder Malfoy but the son.

He'd parted on neutral terms with Malfoy after the war, realizing he'd just been a scared kid with a terrible father. Afterward he and Narcissa had left for France, finding life in post-war Britain a bit awkward for former Death Eaters, even those with a pardon. But seeing him here, the spitting image of that father - who Harry is ashamed to admit still appears in his nightmares from time to time - is jarring. Harry hopes he won't have to speak to -

“Oh, Harry, come over here. You remember Draco?”

\- him.

Harry approaches, resigned, and holds out his hand. “Hey, Malfoy. It's been a while.” The other man takes his hand after only a slight hesitation. “Potter. I hear we'll be working together.” Harry looks over in surprise at Thompson, the Junior Auror’s team supervisor.

“Oh, none of that,” Thompson interjects. “We're trying something new with the Junior Aurors. No last names. Builds closeness, camaraderie. You know that very well, Harry.”

Malfoy arches a perfect eyebrow. Up close, Harry can see now that he doesn't look exactly like Lucius. He's more angled, less chiseled, with a much softer mouth. “Well then. _Harry_ , I look forward to working with you.” Harry watches his lips move, and idly wonders if he's wearing lipstick to get them such a perfect shade of light pink. When he doesn't respond to Malfoy right away, those lips start to curve into the sneer that Harry knows so well, and the softness is gone. Grey eyes harden, framed by platinum blonde. The effect is enough to make Harry shudder.

He's all too glad to use first names here. “Are you joining the Aurors, Draco?” 

“No, I'll be contributing to the Aurors potions stocks for my thesis project.”

Harry nods, still distracted by the nervous feeling looking at Draco gives him. Thompson claps them both on the back. “Well then! I'll see you at the one o'clock meeting, Harry. Draco, until next time.”

“Of course. Thank you for having me, er…”

“Oh, I'm Thompson to you fellows. I'm still your boss after all.”

After Thompson leaves them, Draco turns to Harry with a very serious look.

“Potter. Harry. Damn, it's going to take me awhile to get used to that. What's the problem?”

“Sorry? I, there's no problem.”

“You look upset. Do you think you can't work with me? Tell me now so I know to avoid you when I come to the office.” It's clear that Draco has picked up on Harry's discomfort.

Harry tries to shake it off. “No, it's nothing. It was just a bit of a shock, seeing you.” It's an understatement, but how do you tell someone they remind you of a man that terrified you, that you hated, that they may very well hate, too? “It's just been so long. It was unexpected. If you're helping the department, I'm happy to have to you.”

Draco stares at him with those steel grey eyes long enough that Harry wonders if he's trying to use Legilimency on him. Finally he seems satisfied, and his pink mouth returns to a slight smile. The shiver that runs down Harry's spine has nothing to do with fear.

“Well, until then.” Harry nods, and Draco walks toward the Floo queue.

With a view of Draco’s back once more, Harry's confusion returns.  Even as a contrite member of society, a mere student in his early twenties, he walks like a Malfoy, with purposeful, harsh strides across the atrium.  His long white hair sways gently within the black silk tie.  Harry finds himself wishing to never be at Draco’s back again.  At least face to face, he can watch those lush pink lips.  Lucius had never looked quite so kissable.

 

***

 

It’s not that night but the next that Harry has a nightmare. He’s back in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, face hot with a stinging jinx. It’s dark, and his calls to the other captives go unanswered. The door creaks open, and instead of Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy enters.

“Are you enjoying my hospitality, Potter?” he growls. When Harry doesn’t respond, he prods him with the snake-headed cane hard enough to bruise.  “Your friends didn’t find it to their liking.” As the torches brighten, Harry can see the unmoving bodies of Ron, Luna, Dean and Ollivander.

Stunned, he doesn’t see the blow coming, and Lucius cracks him upside the head with the cane. Harry falls over, vision swimming. 

“I don’t have my wand in here anymore, Potter, so we’ll have to resort to… other methods.” As Harry blacks out, it’s to the sound of Lucius’ low laughter.

 

***

 

At first, Harry doesn’t see Draco very often. He comes to a few meetings, learning what sort of potions the Aurors need to keep in stock, things like Pepper-Up and poison antidotes and Quick-heal paste for cuts. He does the basic intern work of keeping simple things in the stores, and writes up a proposal for his thesis project. It’s a Nightvision potion, something for stakeouts, and Harry thinks it will be very useful if it ends up working. At the very least, it keeps Draco in his lab and out of Harry’s sight. 

When he does have to face Draco, he’s torn in two directions. One, he’s a Malfoy, and if he pops up at the edge of Harry’s vision it startles him. Most of the time it only takes a moment to calm down, but if Harry’s had a recent nightmare about the Ministry fight or any other number of incidents, it takes him a few minutes more. On the other hand, Draco is so attractive that Harry _wants_ to look at him, at least head on. He’s accepted his bisexuality long ago, and he’s had several flings after he and Ginny didn’t reconnect, but it’s been a while. 

After one meeting where Harry finds himself staring at Draco’s elegant hands for nearly the full hour, wondering how they would feel on his skin, Draco confronts him.

“Harry. Do you have a moment?”

Everyone else files out of the room, and the two of them are alone.

“I know you said you didn’t have a problem with me, but you’re acting funny. If you don’t trust me, or still feel angry with me, just own up to it. I’ll need to start testing this potion with the department soon, and I need all the Junior Aurors for a correct sample size.”

Shaking his head, Harry denies it. “No problem, I swear. You’re doing fine, Mal- Draco. I think your Pepper-Up is loads better than what we used to have, and this new thing is going to be great.”

“Hmmm.” Draco doesn’t look convinced. Harry gives him a winning smile, and then wipes it off his face when he worries it might look like a come-on. The quick change confuses Draco more.

“See, I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.” Harry does his best to look innocent. “No matter. Just cooperate with my trial runs and we’ll stay away from each other otherwise.”

That doesn’t seem fair to Harry, who despite his anxiety-ridden trips down memory lane wants to see Draco’s soft pout every day if he’s honest with himself. He still hasn’t determined if that pink color is natural, or he’s borrowed his mother’s lipstick.

“No, you’re part of the team, Draco. You should come for drinks with us sometimes, hang out.” He hopes that sounds sufficiently casual as to not be a pickup line. Draco looks surprised at the invite. 

“Maybe I will. And maybe you’ll tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Harry shrugs. “Usually not much.”  _Just wank fantasies about your sexy self and nightmares about your imprisoned father_. Thankfully, the next group scheduled for the conference room begins to arrive, and the conversation is cut off.

 

***

 

Over the next few months, Harry dreams of Draco naked in the conference room, spread out on the table like dessert. He dreams of Lucius and Bellatrix, sneering at him in the Department of Mysteries, firing curses at people he loves. He dreams of a teenage Draco, hair still short and puberty not quite done with him, pushing him against a wall in an abandoned Hogwarts corridor and kissing him deeply. Harry feels a little perverted after that one, but he was school-aged in the dream as well, so he guesses it’s alright.

Every night like clockwork, he pulls himself off thinking of Draco. He doesn’t want to save it for morning like he used to. If he has a weird dream or bad nightmare, it feels gross to wank when he wakes up. He falls asleep sticky more times than he can count, but it takes the edge off.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if he actually got his hands on Draco. He hasn’t totally separated him from Lucius in his mind yet, although his momentary lapses are less frequent. If Harry had been willing to talk to a Healer after the war like Hermione had wanted him to, he thinks they might tell him that he's fixating on a fear of Lucius. He wasn't even much of a threat by the end, but Harry is using this as an excuse to avoid thinking about much worse things, like Voldemort himself or the fact he actually died.

He also has no idea if Draco even likes men. Harry is only halfway successful at guessing other’s sexual preferences, which can be awkward when trying to pull. His best guess so far is ‘amenable, but not looking.’ At the very least, Harry doesn’t think Draco would be offended if a man hit on him, even if he turns out to be straight. He’s started coming to pub nights, and everyone looks at him. He’s only had women buy him drinks so far - yes, Harry has been watching - but he hasn’t gone home with anyone that Harry can tell. If _Harry_ hit on him, though, that might be a different story. As cordial as they are becoming now, they still have an unpleasant past. So Harry tries not to be obvious about his new obsession with watching Draco.

 

***

 

Of course, Harry does not have a history of dealing with a Draco obsession subtly or well. Only this time he wants to tear off his clothes rather than catch him doing something wicked.

His sleep schedule has been thrown completely off. He makes his way down to the kitchen at strange times of night, and sits on the porch watching the sunrise with a muggle cigarette. Walburga mutters behind her curtain about filthy blood traitors and their even filthier habits, and Harry knows he can't go back to sleep now. He’ll only dream of Sirius falling through the veil, a triumphant look on his cousin's face.

The more Harry stares at Draco, the more he can tell he’s also a Black. Living in Grimmauld Place among their family portraits, he’s come to recognize the features. Draco may have inherited the Malfoy coloring, his grey eyes and nearly silver hair setting off pale yet glowing skin, but in everything else he is his mother’s son. He’s pointy without being pinched, and graceful when he’s not holding himself in stern poses that were obviously learned from his father. Once, when he laughed openly and loudly at something, he reminded Harry of Sirius. He also possesses a mischievous little smile that was shared by Tonks, and now Teddy, and Harry suspects Bellatrix in her younger, pre-insanity days. He has high, lovely cheekbones, and long, dancing fingers, and everyone turns to stare when he enters a room.

He’s intensely beautiful, almost ethereal, and it’s driving Harry mad.

 

***

 

Things come to a head one night when several departments head for after-work drinks at the Leaky. As the evening wears on, jackets are unbuttoned and discarded, collars loosened, and hair let down. And Draco has the most noticeable hair in the pub. 

He’s pulled the tie off, and silvery locks fall in his face as he leans over to order another drink. Harry stands dumbfounded behind Draco; his robes are dropped somewhere to the side and his gorgeous arse is visible in tight trousers. And then Draco’s loose, flyaway strands conjure a vision in Harry’s mind of a mask and cap pulled roughly off, another pale blonde kneeling in a graveyard, and Harry can’t exit the bar fast enough. He just had that nightmare last week.

Unfortunately for him, Draco had turned at the last second, and caught Harry’s wide-eyed stare just before he bolted.

Catching his breath outside, Harry leans against the wall of the Leaky. The door bangs open, and Draco strides out.

“For god’s sake, Harry, I’m over this. I thought we were becoming friends. What the _fuck_ is your problem with me?”

Stunned, Harry can only look at Draco’s pout. Still pink. 

“Are you wearing girls lipstick?” he blurts out.

Draco scowls. “Is that what this is? Some sort of hangup? It’s gloss, _Potter_ , and it’s got nothing to do with my being queer, it’s perfectly acceptable fashion, so you can take your homophobia elsewhere.”

And Harry is so blown away by that information, and so offended that Draco could think he was put off by the idea, that he forgets his inhibitions and does the only thing that comes to his mouth-focused mind.

Harry kisses Draco, right on his glossy lips.

 

***

 

Neither of them is sure how they went from desperately making out against the door of the Leaky Cauldron, patrons shouting as they tried to exit, to standing in Harry’s bedroom, moonlight barely spilling through the window. Draco is pulling at Harry’s trousers, and Harry is ripping the buttons from Draco’s shirt. He bites at a pale neck, and ends up with a mouthful of hair. Draco growls and shoves Harry back onto the bed, and asks, “Should I spell the lights on?”

Harry panics. Draco is fit as hell, more eager than he could have dreamed, and Harry’s wanted to get him here nearly since he came back into the country. He _knows_ that Draco isn’t Lucius. But those little flashes catch him off guard, and he doesn’t want to deal with that possibility in the middle of fucking.

“Leave them off.”

“Mmm, kinky.” Draco crawls over Harry and licks a path from his navel to his collarbone, feeling his way in the dim light, stopping for a moment at each nipple. Harry whines, and Draco laughs that sexy, Black laugh of his. “How do you want me?”

It’s a loaded question if Harry ever heard one.  Because he wants Draco all the ways, in him and on him and rough and sweet and he’s not sure if this is a one time thing, so he has to pick the best way first.

“On your back. Can I really have you?”

Draco shivers. “Yes, Harry. You can have me.” He finishes undressing, throwing his pants who knows where, and lays down on the bed. Harry summons his lube jar, which smacks him on the cheek in the dark. 

He kneels between Draco’s legs, and curses his nerves for the lack of light, because he really wanted to see if the soft curls surrounding the hard prick before him are white blonde, or darker like those sculpted eyebrows. He does his best to bury his nose in them, anyways, and Draco keens in pleasure. 

Harry keeps a steady pace, sucking and licking while never going fast or hard enough to let Draco finish. He gropes for the lube, slicking up two fingers and gently rubbing them around Draco's warm little hole. 

Draco pushes insistently back at him. “I can take it, Harry. Give it to me.”

Harry slips his fingers inside, pausing in wonder at the hot tightness that seems to suck him in greedily. “Do you think we should slow down?” God, it's only been about 15 minutes since Harry had forcefully kissed him.

“Hell no. I've been dreaming of this. Never thought I'd get it.” It blows Harry's mind, that all this time he's been wanting Draco, the feeling was mutual.

“Let's not talk about dreams. This is real.” Harry says it to reassure himself as much as Draco.

“Then really fuck me.” Harry's never been good at resisting things he wants, so he pulls his hand back and starts to press his cock into Draco, who spreads his thighs wider in an effort to take him all. Neither of them are more than slightly above average, but it's a perfect fit: Draco's slender body accepting Harry until he's balls deep, Harry's hand on Draco's cock, his grip firm. He begins to stroke up and down as he pumps his hips.

They don't speak anymore, but they do stare into each other's eyes as best they can in the near darkness. The moonlight catches Draco’s platinum hair spread out on the pillow around him, but he looks so unearthly that Harry isn't reminded of anything. It's a totally new experience, Draco beneath him, around him, his hands clutching at Harry as he pants faster, crying out as he starts to come. The thought that's he's made this gorgeous boy come all over himself, coupled with the rippling around his cock, is enough to bring Harry over the edge as well. 

Wordlessly, he collapses down on the bed, and pulls Draco over to him. He huffs and reaches over for his wand to cast a cleaning charm, and then lets Harry snuggle as sleep takes them both.

 

***

 

Waking up next to Draco is a double edged sword. Harry comes to groggily, with a warm body next to him, and instinctively cuddles in. It’s soothing, a nice complement to his pleasantly aching body. It’s been so long since he’d slept with someone, he was out of practice. Still, Draco certainly seemed to enjoy himself last night. 

When Harry opens his eyes to drink in the sight of his lovely companion, however, he’s met with a curtain of blonde; his sharp gasp draws some into his mouth, and he sneezes.

Draco wakes at that, and stretches with a little yawn. It’s so adorable that Harry grabs him before he can fully wake and starts to kiss him. They spend ten minutes simply enjoying themselves with light snogging.

“So this is why you’ve been staring me down, hmm?” Draco asks smugly. “You just wanted me.”

Harry bites his own well-kissed lip. “Mmm, mostly. Eventually.” He wants a repeat performance of last night, but he knew this would come out in the end. He’s not a subtle man, and Draco is uncommonly perceptive. Best to be honest.

“I really like looking at your face. At your body. I did want to get my hands on you.” He runs his fingers down Draco’s side. “At first, though, I was just always startled by you. You don’t have a schedule, you appear in the office at random times, and when I see you out of the corner of my eye…”

“You get a hard-on you can’t control?”

“No - I mean, yeah, lately. But in the beginning… I just always thought of your father, and it threw me off. It still does, somewhat.”

Draco blinked. “My father?”

“Your hair. Draco, you look just like him until you turn around. Sometimes even when we’re talking. I saw him off and on for years, and it was always that hair. Why did you grow it out? Doesn’t it remind you, too?”

Draco looks troubled. “I didn’t realize you thought that when you saw me. I know you hate him.”

“He terrified me. I never admitted it, and I never, ever let him see that. But he was there for some of the worst moments of my life, and I still see him in my nightmares. I catch you in the corner of my eye, and it makes me jumpy.”

The covers rustle as Draco sits up, pulling them to his chest. “He terrified me, too.”

“I know you _aren’t_ him. You look more like your mum in the face, anyways. It was just a little hard to cope with at first. You were popping up all the time out of nowhere and I’ve only just started dealing with - well, flashbacks, I guess.” Draco stiffens and looks away, and Harry wants to salvage this. Fantastic sex aside, he realizes that he’s been looking forward to the day after, to breakfast and maybe a walk in the park.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry reassures him. “And I’m mostly over it. You’ve become a different man, you laugh more, you’re fun to be around. This, sleeping with you, that was good, but I _like_ you, Draco. I really like you.”

Draco sighs, and pulls one long strand of hair between his fingers. “I was trying to be a Malfoy, still. That’s why I haven’t cut it. We aren’t just my father, you know.” Harry doesn’t know, he’s only ever met the three of them. 

“Well, it’s just the two of you left, I guess I can see that.”

Draco shakes his head. “No, it’s not, I’ve got cousins in France, Malfoys all over the place. I’m the only heir to the British branch, but there’s enough of us in Provence to start an army.” He shrugs. “Catholics.”

Harry can’t help but picture a whole clan of beautiful Dracos. “Wow. I never knew. Is that why your mum stayed over there?”

“Absolutely not.” Draco turns on his side and idly pets Harry’s arm. “She’s living in Paris, and she’s gone back to her maiden name. ‘Black’ isn’t nearly as reviled over there, and I’m sure she wants to return eventually. She tried to convince me to change it with her.”

“Draco Black,” Harry whispers. “I don’t know if I can see that.” 

“Draco Lucius Black, I’d be. I’ll never escape his name. You know,” he adds, “Mother told me that if she’d had her way, I’d have a middle name from the Blacks as well, one they'd reused several times, but it was also the name of her cousin and he was disowned by the time she was married.”

It takes a moment for Harry to parse that. “Wait, you don’t mean -"

He nods. “Draco _Sirius_ Malfoy, can you imagine. Well, it would have been fun to taunt you with when he escaped from Azkaban and everyone thought he was out to kill you.” Draco knows the full story now, everyone does; the Prophet had been quick to publish long tales of heroism about everyone that was misrepresented during and before the war. 

“Honestly, I think she secretly admired the way he and my aunt escaped the family. My grandmother on that side was an awful woman, and his mother as well. Anyways, my middle name is a concession to my father. He also wanted to name me Abraxus after my grandfather. Mother put her foot down and got her constellation. I think she still felt left out that she’s the only one without a star.” 

“Abraxus. That’s a mouthful.”

“He wasn’t a bad man, my grandfather. No, he wasn’t,” Draco insists at Harry’s skeptical look. “We’ve all been Slytherins, and we’ve all been more ready to use Dark magic than makes most people comfortable, and I can’t deny a lot of the wealth I’ve inherited has been acquired by shady means. But you have to understand, Harry, that my father was an outlier in his public violence and cruelty. None of my cousins approve of him, and the portraits back in the manor always complained. He was careless. And he almost got me killed, which would have ended our line, and that’s unacceptable.”

“Um, you seem to be doing an okay job of that yourself,” Harry says, pointedly looking down at their naked bodies.

“Hush. I’m being serious. Anyways, being queer doesn’t mean I can’t have a child someday.” Draco flops back down on the bed in a huff. That’s way too far in the future for Harry to be thinking about this early in the morning.

“What does any of this have to do with your hairstyle?”

“Long story short, I didn’t think my father should get the satisfaction of chasing me away from my heritage. I walked the portrait hall to say goodbye when we left for France. I stayed with my cousins. I saw the long hair has always been a Malfoy style, once the sons come of age. I’m not going to change my name, and I’m not going to shy away from who I am just because my father decided to throw his own life away, and nearly mine in the process. I’m going to make Malfoy a respectable name again.”

It actually makes sense to Harry. “You’re doing a great job. Everyone in the Ministry that’s worked with you has nothing but good things to say. You breezed back into England, all stylish and smart. You’re charming, and you know it.”

“I’ve certainly charmed you,” Draco whispers in his ear. His hands start to roam over Harry’s chest, and their morning erections become apparent to each other. He pauses before reaching Harry’s cock, however. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I give you bad memories. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, no!” The need Harry feels for Draco is overwhelming, and it blots out everything else. “It’s my issue, and really, it’s momentary. You’re fucking gorgeous. Please, please touch me.” 

Draco appears thoughtful for a moment, and then a sly grin steals over his expressive face. “Let’s give you better memories.” Before Harry can ask what he means, Draco is straddling him. When Draco leans down to capture his lips, Harry is drowned in a waterfall of silver. He can’t think past the perfect kisses that nip his mouth, his jaw, his throat. Draco slowly drags his hair down Harry’s chest, and it’s so silky, so soft. When he gets to Harry’s cock, he blows on it, and licks the tip, until Harry is thrashing and begging. He is unprepared for Draco’s next move, which is to wrap his platinum locks around Harry’s prick and start tugging him off like that.

“Oh holy _fuck,_ what the hell, unnhh!” It’s a brand new sensation, and Harry can feel the orgasm rushing at him. 

“Good?”

“Oh my god, so good. Where did you learn that?” Draco doesn’t answer and pulls back; before Harry can complain, Draco swallows him to the root.

“ _Fuck!_ ” He’s definitely going to come soon.

Draco pulls off messily with a slurp. “Pull my hair, grab me. I want you to fuck my face.” Harry does so unthinkingly, winding blonde strands through his fingers and yanking Draco back down. He fucks Draco’s throat until he’s screaming, coming spectacularly. Dazed, he goes limp as Draco crawls back up his body and kisses him with a mouthful of his own come.

“God, you’re filthy. I love it.”

Draco ruts his cock against Harry, eager for his turn. “How fast do you think you can get it up again? I’m still loose from last night.”

Harry is thankful he's only 22 years old. “Pretty quick, if you keep rubbing on me. That’s so hot.” They make out and frot like teenagers until Harry feels his prick begin to swell once more. He starts to roll Draco over, but a firm hand stops him.

“I want to ride you.” Harry doesn’t protest and Draco sinuously moves back down and holds Harry’s cock steady underneath him.

With soft noises and a determined look, Draco wiggles and arches his back until he’s fully seated on Harry. “Oh, oh oh oh. I fucking love this. Love being stuffed full of you. Just lie there and let me fuck myself on this wonderful cock, Harry. Just watch me. Watch me fuck you.” Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. 

It seems like it lasts forever. Draco writhes and pants while Harry holds his hips steady. He’s a vision, a fairy tale creature, pale and sweet and perfect. His long hair swings unbound as he shakes his head back and forth, his breath coming faster. Harry can see nothing but Draco astride his cock. He knows he’ll never look at him the same way again. He’ll only see this beautiful man, shining and glorious. This boy who’s been through so much and come out of it stronger. Harry digs his fingers into Draco’s sharp hipbones as the tightness around him starts to pull him towards another orgasm. 

With a desperate cry, Draco begins to come untouched, his cock pumping out long pulses across Harry. He shakes in pleasure, but continues his ride for another minute before his clenching arse draws Harry’s own satisfaction deep inside him. Draco sinks down, head bowed, and his soft hair trails through the mess he’s made on Harry’s chest. Harry works it in with his fingers, fascinated with how shiny and sticky it is, until Draco collapses across Harry, smearing come between them.

For long moments, neither of them speak. Finally, Draco pulls away and rolls onto his back. “We really need a shower.”

“When my legs work again.”

Propping his head on his elbow, Draco looks over at Harry quite seriously.

“That’s what I want you to think about now, when you see me. From the corner of your eye, behind, face to face, whenever. I want you to think of me naked and wanting you.”

Harry reaches over and casually runs his fingers across the side of Draco’s face, brushing hair out of his wide grey eyes. “Might make work difficult, having a permanent hard-on.”

Draco captures Harry’s hand and kisses his palm, before returning it pointedly to his head. “I mean it. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, just touch me like this, know who I am.”

“In front of everyone?” Hope blossoms in Harry’s heart when Draco nods. “Nothing too obscene, obviously, but you can stroke my hair or take my hand. I’m not ashamed, Harry. Unless… you only wanted tonight? Today, whatever.”

“No,” Harry reassures him. “I want you all the time.”

They stare at each other nervously. “So… we’re doing this?” Draco asks.

Harry kisses him firmly. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

It takes them another half hour, but they finally make their way to the shower. Harry uses half a bottle of shampoo washing Draco’s hair, and Draco takes care of his resulting erection by shoving Harry against the wall and licking and sucking his arsehole until Harry comes across the tiles. He finishes Draco off by kneeling under the spray and swallowing him down, noting with pleasure the short, blonde curls.

When they emerge from the steamy bathroom, a breakfast in bed tray is waiting. “I think Kreacher is happy to finally have a member of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black here again.” At Draco’s puzzled look, Harry realizes he never told him where they were after Apparating here in a frenzy of kisses last night. “This is Grimmauld Place. I inherited it."

“Everything comes full circle,” Draco murmurs, turning to the full length mirror. He casts a drying charm on himself, and pulls on his trousers - sans pants, Harry notices. He’s no idea where they went last night. 

Harry busies himself pouring coffee, and Draco pulls his hair back into his customary look. Shirtless, still glowing from the shower fun, he catches Harry’s eye in the mirror and blushes. Harry goes over to him and hooks his chin over his shoulder. They look beautiful together, Harry thinks. Light brown and pale skin. Brunette and blonde. Messy and elegant. Everything about them is a contrast, and everything fits. The sweet smell of his own shampoo fills his nose, and Harry nuzzles in. Yes, they look perfect together.

Harry hopes Draco never cuts his hair.

 

END

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, thanks so much for sticking with me on my first foray back into fanfiction in over ten years. My love for HP has been rekindled lately, especially with all the great content on Tumblr. I’m glad there is still a community. Drarry squad! You can find me there at [ Lowereastside](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/), I’d love comments there or here! Thanks so much to @pansyplanetexplorer for giving this a beta read.
> 
> Draco with long hair gives me LIFE. Like, I'm way more sympathetic to Cursed Child based only on that ponytail.


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